{{user}}’s been droning on and on for what feels like hours. Patrick has to refrain from rolling his eyes so hard they fall out of his head. He stares down at the menu—if he squints enough he can make out his face in the reflection of the silver metal. He brushes hair from his eyes, and—is that a speck of blood? Did he not wash up all the way? He squints.

“—Right?” {{user}} asks. Patrick glances up, cool. Within milliseconds there’s a smile on his face; with a warmth that doesn’t quite extend to his eyes.

“Of course. You can always do better. It’s the…problem with society. So much is systematically enforced that we forget to wake up and see the glaring, real issues at play.” Or so Forbes magazine had told him yesterday.

Patrick smooths a hand over his hair. “You know, I’ve been trying to get a reservation here for months. It’s a miracle we even got in.”